Opus Veda

The block was one of many in Coldharbour Ward, a drab and crooked grid of the 20th century. Kendi Estate wrapped around a central square like a horseshoe, with haphazard new homes crammed in where possible. Over time the flats came to reflect their inhabitants - a menagerie of the desperate, pushing against one another in a mad gasp for air.

To the square's south lay the blueprint of a playground plundered for scrap. To its north, the muddy war zone of a former communal garden drowned by flooding. A forest of wires webbed overhead, black and dense and tangled beyond rescuing. In the plaza's centre a circle of rotten benches backed against a concrete plinth. A statue of the estate's namesake once stood here; during the fascist wave rioters had pulled it down, breaking it into chunks to be hurled at their minority scapegoats.

Each floor had an external walkway like a balcony. Kasia lived on the first floor. Since ground floor flats were at the mercy of the Thames no matter how many sandbags their residents stole, Kasia's position was much the same as her career's - uncomfortable but fortunate.

Her neighbour was outside, hanging clothes from the above walkway's ceiling. Imany had already lived on the estate when Kasia moved in. Territorial and maternal, and a generation older than Kasia, the estate's agony aunt was a useful contact to have. As time had shown, she was also a dangerous rival. She paused from her laundry to wag a finger.

"Back home on time today? Didn't fancy shaggin' your life away in some club again?"

"Aw leave it out! I only went out last night to have a think," Kasia pulled a peg off the line and pinched Imany's finger with it, "any cool adventures at work?"

Imany tutted and rehung the towel Kasia had let drop, "It's hard bein' the block's laundry lady when I'm stuck with one of your shite Riese machines."

"It pays more than I get telling you we can't fix it," Kasia motioned to her door, "and you see more of her."

"I'm happy to keep an eye on her. She even helped fold clothes today, before her phone distracted her."

"I hope you didn't give her any money."

"If I wanna treat my second favourite girl I don't need a reason!"

Kasia frowned, "learning to rely on handouts won't help her."

"Payin' someone for work ain't a handout though izzit!"

Kasia dazed into the plaza below to find a counterargument. A cloud of fruity steam billowed in her face, making her splutter. She flapped at the air.

"Fuck's sake Imany you know I hate that!"

Imany drew her vape again and blew at Kasia to force her away, "Katarzyna when you've had my life you can talk to me about quittin'! Shit!"

"Why can't you have a normal addiction!? Like clubbing?"

"Too mainstream."

"Not all of them…"

"Yeah right you mean those stupid intimacy clubs. You won't find me in one of them."

"I dunno, I kinda need a hug every now and then..."

"You can have one from me any time you want," Imany blushed at her, getting an eye roll back.

"I'll hold you to that one day," Kasia unlocked her front door with her phone and shook one of the hanging duvets, "I'll leave you between the sheets for now."

Kasia had a normal flat: a single room with a corner walled off for the basin and toilet. Financial strains had made her sell the wash corner's boiler. Her heart bled watching Eva acclimatise to cold washing. Eva then started smuggling toilet paper from school so Kasia could 'save some money and treat herself'; ever since, they made a game of pilfering supplies to brighten one another's day.

The flat had a microwave with a stove top and inserts for tea and rice. Beside it a rickety fridge hummed, and resting on that was a new TV bought on finance. Adjacent to the wash corner rested a springy bunk bed buried in floral duvets. Eva demanded the top bunk, giving Kasia the pleasure of hanging a sheet along the lower one as a curtain.

On the room's other side was a table with two folding metal chairs. Over this an electric fan stuck out of the wall, which Eva complained only reminded them they had no air conditioning. The walls were mostly pink, painted by Kasia with the one tub she could afford for Eva's last birthday, and patches of lime green shone through. In a bid to fight freak temperatures and opportunist thieves, their single window was sealed with bricks.

"Make me some tea you damned woman!"

"Make it yourself! Kurwa I'm not your carer," Eva lowered her phone and drooped her head over the bunk, "mamusia can you make me one as well?"

"So unfair! You sit up there playing games all day and as soon as I get home I'm on second shift…" Kasia filled a strainer with oolong leaves and brought two noodle pots out. She left the kettle insert boiling in the microwave.

"How's school been today? Are you on top of everything?"

"Nah, I got bored and started another musical, a super old one called Style…" Eva waved her hands in the air, "by some guy called 'Frank Sinatra'. Have you heard of him?"

"Doesn't ring a bell, what is he like R&B or something?"

"Yea I reckon so, you wanna hear it?"

"Totally!" Kasia pulled herself onto the kitchen counter. Eva dropped to the floor and flicked her phone at the TV, playing a synthesised backing track.

She danced a routine using a paper plate as a hat and their broken umbrella as a cane. Kasia cheered on, pushing back the angst bubbling underneath. Whatever x-factor she lacked, Eva looked about to get. People kept commenting on her looks, and the battle to stop her uploading real photos - risky behaviour in the age of AI dominance - was getting harder. Kasia knew the experience: the gushing comments from 'boys', the adoration that lead naive girls to tragic ends the girls were blamed for.

The routine ended. She applauded her bowing child.

"That's so cool! I can't wait to see my little bąbelek performing at the West End!"

Eva's eyes went wide and glinted, "imagine how many subscribers I'd get!"

"As many as you can eat!"

A pause. Eva put the umbrella down and swayed. Kasia held her finger up.

"Nie."

"But -"

"Nie Evie. I told you you're too young for it."

"It's just dimples! It will literally guarantee I get a part! Everyone knows this…"

"I don't care. I am not putting my twelve year old child in plastic surgery and our insurance doesn't cover dimples," she poked Eva's cheeks, making her jump back, "it does cover antidepressants. If the producer doesn't think you're attractive enough to hire you can take them instead."

"Can't I do a charity fundraiser!?"

"With who Evie? The Red Cross?"

"They might have a doctor who does dimples!? And implants."

"Kurwa mać Evie you're on about tits now as well..."

"Maybe, yes! If I end up flat chested I'd be lucky to get cast as a prop!"

Kasia folded her arms and pouted, "you could be a washboard…"

"You are not funny," Eva flourished the umbrella like a sword and thrust at Kasia. Kasia giggled childishly and stabbed back with chopsticks, before dunking them in the noodle pots and moving to the table. She raised her pot as if toasting.

"For all our problems, none of the women in our family needed implants. And anyway, with a shit body you could still play for a queer audience."

"Ugh yuck," Eva wriggled in the chair, "a bitchy minority audience findin' ways to tear each other down, nah thanks."

"What about me!?"

"I'm not sure what sexuality you are, the way you keep bangin' on about that palm tree."

"Don't talk about Peter like that… and you shouldn't rule out us ladies, you know what they say about matching with women."

"Jack can only fill what Jill can thrill?"

"Quite right. And you can fill it with that umbrella."

Eva snickered, "what if it finally opened?"

"I'd need to call our insurance and see if it's covered -"

"Don't even bother…"

* * *

The superintendent was micromanaging. Since Rajesh Tomar died locally, Brixton had to be combed for lice. Detectives were assigned to the borough's estates. To Gemma, this one looked no more worth a glance than any other.

Night had arrived, and despite the endless roar of London traffic the area felt still. Gemma knew residents in these blocks kept to themselves indoors; even the aggressive youths - the 'roadman' menace her decrepit parents nattered about - preferred loitering online.

She parked under the canopy of an abandoned petrol station, across the road from the target estate, and logged into her aviators.

"What you thinking then?" Luis, sat in the passenger seat, calibrated his own shades, "could a cabal of vijis sink so low as to live here?"

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Terrorists, and you were more upbeat about this than I was."

She scanned the block. One woman of mid 40's, stocky with mocha skin and dreadlocked hair, fiddled with laundry on the first floor. The aviators found no online data - a sign of suspicion. Gemma bookmarked her and moved on.

"If you assassinated a major political figure - as one often desires - would you hide half an hour down the road, mixing with riffraff?"

"Given that's all we have on this terrorist, and they will know we know that, blending in with the plebs, where many support R-B? It's completely counterintuitive, and thus plausible," Luis stretched his shoulders, "well, are we wading in for once?"

"Don't tease me with such nostalgia," Gemma cocked her head at him, "all those years wasted on martial arts when I should have studied social media marketing."

Luis scoffed, "And when this 'riffraff' start packing heat? The only reason we're still alive is 'cause China makes our enemies stab each other. If R-B is coming to London surely they'll bring firearms."

"They wouldn't hand them out to the common soldier, and even if they did China would lift the amnesty, at least for us."

"The Metropolitan Police, armed with lead?" Luis eyed his sidearm - a taser he had illegally modified to hurt more - as if it was roadkill, "god I wish. I don't care what we're being attacked with - fucking intellectual discourse for all I care - I'm sick of being up shit creek with a taser for a paddle."

Someone hammered on the window. He yanked at his holster.

"Who you suspectin' detectives? Nice glasses! Afraid we been outta petrol for the last few decades," a young man in a track suit covered in symbols hopped over the bonnet and blew Gemma a kiss. Luis laughed and lowered his weapon.

"Bold little cunt," Gemma focussed on the inside of her aviators. The man's online profile expanded over them. With her eyes she flicked unimportant parts of his life away. They dropped down the lenses like falling tears.

"Go on, go and pin him down," Luis sneered, "he's black, he'll be used to it."

"Luis! We're nearly in the 90's white boy! It might be easy for you to joke like that, he's clearly Bantu anyway."

Luis dismissed her with a chuckle. Gemma watched the man duck into the estate and peer over her car. He looked concerned. She pulled herself over the drivers seat and zoomed her glasses.

"Oh for gods sake…"

Far away, in the overgrowth of the Thames bank, a pack of vagrants congregated. Luis tapped the dashboard screen and launched a palm-sized camera drone, piloting it to rest on the petrol station's canopy. The vagrants stood within thick cigarette smoke. Each wore matching denim jackets, apparently new, with badges stitched to their lapels.

A dangerous display of unity. Either they were in a gang, or about to form one. Luis zoomed on a lapel badge - a squiggly line of gold.

"There must be a hundred of the bastards," he rubbed his forehead, "what's that logo then?"

"It's the old arts uni isn't it, Goldsmiths. Never seen these guys before and there weren't big gangs around here before, so it's a merger. Rajesh Tomar's death clearly isn't old news yet."

"If they're opportunists, they're looking for a quick victory. Two detectives would be quick enough. Let's bounce."

Gemma agreed and started the car. It hummed online with an electric purr. Luis piloted the drone back, but caught something.

"Wait. Look there."

Five vagrants were skulking across the road, aiming for a flank of the estate block. Luis reached for the door but Gemma stopped him.

"We can't. I'll call in a Chad, should be enough to scare them off," she loaded a defence drone from the touchscreen - the kind that saw through walls and kept people awake - and told it to dangle over Kendi Estate for the night.

"You sure the station will green light it? This isn't Chelsea Gemma. The cavalry never rides for the downtrodden."

Gemma rolled the car out of the forecourt, "we can't take that many vagrants, and if they think a mayor's death means the end times they'll have less qualms knocking us two off. Don't worry detective, estate folk always chase the homeless away."

"That only gets the weed at the flower. Eventually someone has to get their hands dirty and if we don't, Red or Black will. Another community turns to the other side..." Luis swatted his glasses off and watched the world pass by, "I keep telling you Gemma: policing is dead. We're moving from a marketing war to an actual one."

* * *

The cartoon lobster on Eva's noodle pot grinned. Kasia photoed it to show her friends, commenting that it smugly knew its contents were meat-free. Her profile reminded her of similar photos she had taken - the ones where she drew silly faces on each pot for Eva to play with. They would make personalities for each, putting them together in a noodle-based reality TV show. Eva would take the pots they 'voted out' to the recycling centre for spare cash. Since the council had axed the trash-for-cash scheme, Kasia vengefully refused to recycle.

Eva scoffed her baklava treat down in one mouthful, returned to her bunk, and plugged into her VR headset. She joined her friends online and was lost to Kasia for the night. Kasia waved bye to the girl who couldn't see her and waited for her own evening treat: a bitter hot chocolate boiling in the microwave. She enjoyed her routine of watching powdery chunks surface, which she crushed with her prized teaspoon - a gift from Babunia Ewa; real silver with the Polish Eagle on its handle.

The smell of plasticine berries told her Imany was outside, probably playing on her laptop. Kasia decided to go and bother her.

"Go on, where should I go next?" Imany drew deeply from her vape. Kasia didn't mind when they sat like this on her doorstep. She took Imany's laptop and clicked on an army, pointing it at a land to conquer. The AI opponent moved to retaliate.

"I dunno why you don't play with the other ladies."

"Gossipin' all day about so-called friends? Wavin' childish super powers about?" Imany flapped her hands, wafting vapour in front of her, "all those hens do is piss about on MMO's all day, then whinge on forums about how it ain't as good as it used to be. Me and Rhys played games that trained our minds. Whatever we could bring to the real fight."

"Yea but who we gonna fight now?" Kasia tutted, "how would it even help?"

"We don't deserve the chance. We all heard about the struggles our grandparents went through and everyone said the same thing: 'I'd never let such a bad thing happen'. We got our chance to fight, and what did everyone do? Fuck all."

Imany paused to stop Kasia ruining her game, guiding her into a better move.

"When people like me and Rhys did fight back, everyone got scared and turned on us."

Kasia wanted to ask about Rhys, why Imany did things to remind her of him, but she didn't know how to manage a flood of emotions Imany was too open to hide. She stayed on the laptop and continued the game. Imany showed her approval by not interfering.

"And now the vijis have done Rajesh Tomar in, the useless old fool..."

"Did you see the video?"

"None of us should be watchin' that shit lovey. It plays into the Black's narrative."

Kasia captured the last enemy and, ignoring Imany's preference for hostages, clicked the enslave option.

"So… what did you make of it?"

Imany drew her vape and blew skyward, "I've seen worse..."

"Why'd they go after someone that big all of a sudden?"

"Why'd they do anything? They think they can control everyone by revealin' the truth. Now they've got their rivals in a shit position, and all the nation's waitin' to see what comes next. But I know the answer: it'll be a scandal - a minor celebrity or an MP or something - timed to distract us. As for the Reds, they're makin' a mob outta locals, givin' them 'purpose'. Like that Sermon of yours..."

Imany tutted and pulled the laptop away from Kasia.

"He's only pro-Red 'cause he wants to fix things! Anyway how'd you find all this out?"

"Picked it up on my radio didn't I?" Imany's tin contraption - a discreet device popular with her era's activist movements - played from her flat. It looked to Kasia like a homemade bomb. A forgettable podcast saying nothing drawled from its single speaker. She frowned at it.

"Don't terrorists listen to those 'waves' to find their targets?"

"Most likely,"Imany nodded, "those terrorists could listen to what you sing in the shower if they wanted to."

"I don't have a shower."

"You're welcome to use mine ain't ya!"

"When you let me pay for the water sure. And when you start charging us for laundry."

"Charge you? Where you gonna cut costs in return?"

Imany grabbed Kasia's hand and stared at her with equal sympathy and authority. She was the only person in Kasia's life, outside of clubs, who truly made physical contact. Like everyone else, Kasia didn't know how to handle it. She looked down, trying to pull her hand away, but Imany's grip tightened.

"What're you worried is gonna happen? Gonna get outed online for acceptin' charity? Lose all your friends?"

The risk of debt, rejection, and abandonment struck Kasia's mind. She prised her hand free.

"I'm working hard for that promotion, then I'll think about it. If I get a raise I'll buy my own shower and one of those radio things."

"You should listen to one. It might tell you your future."

"When did you learn to use it? They teach you that back in Iraq?"

"Shit I'm only 16 years older than you, you chipper."

Kasia burst into giggles. Imany snapped the laptop shut with a huff and pulled herself up.

"Go on, how'd you call it?"

"I believe you're trying to say Cipa!" Kasia loved mocking botched pronunciation. Being third generation, her Cockney English had a Polish twang only other English speakers heard. She knew when to hide it, and when to play it up, though it sprung up on its own whenever she got emotional or excited.

A car sped off nearby. Someone under the balcony whistled, imitating a police siren.

"Watch out ladies, detectives watchin' the estate! Probably lookin' for them Blacks."

Kasia leant over the walkway and stuck her tongue out at the stocky figure below. His sportswear and panther beret were covered in badges, all showing his ancestry off via political groups. A few of these showed daring support for the revolution.

She knew Sermon from school; two amongst a band of teenagers wanting to be the first to go clubbing. Kasia had formed an unspoken partnership with Sermon for two reasons. The first was his easy charm, which talked them past security. The second was their shared tastes, giving Kasia someone to strategise with. They let men chase them, and they chased the occasional woman when, as Sermon put it, 'the blood moon was out'. Their success gave them a term of unrivalled popularity on the playground.

Kasia asked no questions when Sermon arrived at her doorstep bloodied and beaten. He asked none the following year, as she wandered onto his estate pregnant, alone, and homeless. Since then they'd lived close, the uncommon friends of the physical world who knew each others true faces. They otherwise kept apart, with their own social circles and virtual lives.

Sermon heard someone behind Kasia tut. He frowned.

"Imany I can hear you kissin' your teeth up there, where the bloody 'ell's my laundry?"

"Where the bloody 'ell's my Berry Blast!?"

"I got it! I got it! 'Ere it comes look," he lobbed an ampoule over the balcony and landed it in the laundry basket, irritating Imany even more. She dropped his laundry bag over the ledge without checking where it would land. Sermon caught it with a grunt.

"What's the ol' radio sayin' then? Reds comin' to London?"

Imany grunted and clicked the ampoule into her vape, "they're poppin' up all over the city, little outposts to recruit on the sly. Police can't do shit, China don't want to."

"Good! Moan all you want Imi, they'll do a better job on the streets than the police ever 'ave."

"You joinin' up then Serms?" Kasia dangled her arms over his head, as if snatching at his beret, "you could be in charge of rationing fags!"

Sermon shushed her and swept the area for eavesdroppers, "you should join up; better than being stuck in some call centre like a chipper all day."

Something clattered nearby. He whipped around, "we might 'ave to join up to soon, listen: them pikeys are gettin' well cosy. Gone and done a wardrobe change and all. They're definitely gonna try it on soon so sleep with one eye open. Give me a shout if you need to, I'll be on floor 5, penthouse suite…"

"Tough at the top ain't it?" Kasia watched him strut off. She envied his top floor flat, but he could only afford it through illicit work, without the stakes of parenthood holding him back. She searched her phone for news of the vagrants across the road.

8 decades of recessions, inequality, and populist conmen had taken its toll. England was suffering a homeless epidemic greater than ever. Sometimes, behind a charismatic leader, packs of these aimless wanderers organised. Vagrants fought daily to survive attacks, starvation, disease, and addiction. Cooperating helped their chances. Typically, their chances involved work only they would take.

They were not appreciated, and Kasia had as hostile an opinion of them as anyone else. This new band, close to her home, had her trawling for answers until derogatory memes lured her away. Sometimes lone vagrants settled in Kendi's stairways but the residents, finding a brief taste for community, formed mobs to chase them off. She never forgot the one who fought back with a knife. Imany had stormed past the blade, strangled the vagrant purple with the playground swing chain, then snapped his arm backwards. She had been widely respected ever since.

But what could they do against an organised gang of them? Call the Reds? Call, somehow, the Veda? Villains wherever she looked - Kasia wasn't getting involved.

She finished her hot chocolate and turned away, "I'm gonna head in, you need help finishing up here?"

"Nah, I'm stayin' outside for a bit anyway. You sleep well."

"Okay, see ya tomorrow. Goodnight Imany," but Imany was miles away, tilting her vape and watching nicotine fluid swish around its reservoir.

Kasia wanted to hug her, but thought better of it.

Eva had fallen asleep with her headset on. Kasia slipped the device off and hung it on the bed post. She spent the last hour of the night chatting to friends. One of them was visiting London soon.

She wanted to invite them out and meet them in real life, but thought better of it.

She stood up and looked at her child. Eva had grown up so fast - as life demanded - but as she slept the illusion lifted. Kasia saw the girl who needed protecting. In these moments she could be motherly without feeling intrusive or shameful.

She wanted to kiss her daughter on the head, but thought better of it.